


The Devil You Know

by SorcerersScone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorcerersScone/pseuds/SorcerersScone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley, as the boys know, is one evil son of a bitch.<br/>Or is he? Season nine has been a total revamping of our demonic friend, and maybe something akin to human feelings could have changed everything for the better from day one of season nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil You Know

Crowley, ever the demon, is worried about one thing, and one thing only: himself. But when he can convince someone else to help him instead, you better believe he’ll do anything in his power to minimize his own collateral damage.

The impala was cold. Of course, with a car that old even the best heater wouldn’t have been perfect, but Dean liked to think that he was tough enough to withstand the weather if his baby couldn’t combat it.

Not this time. The impala was cold, and it was downright scary. First off, it was summer. Second, he had six feet, four inches of what had recently been overheating little brother in the backseat. But the impala was cold, and he didn’t know what to do. He drove.

Thoughts flew in and out of his head like fireflies, chasing ideas that would never solidify. The only real solution was to go to the bunker – ask Kevin, if he could find him – there had to be some sort of magical solution. It was a magical problem, after all.

The one glittering idea that refused to leave was sitting in the trunk. And kicking up quite the racket, if Dean was hearing correctly.

The still-not-human dick may even be powerless, but with two hundred years of hell and a witch for a mother, he might have something useful to add. Or not. He drove.

Sam began muttering, a pitiful whine the only sound in the frozen car. _Thump._ There was Crowley again. Didn’t the duchebag ever sleep? Screw it.

“Screw it.” Dean said, and pulled the car to the side of the highway.

The trunk opened with a _cchnk_ , and suddenly Dean had a face full of irritated demon. “Dude, personal space!” He grabbed the chain imprisoning Crowley, and pulled it up to the passenger side door. “You had enough time to stew?”

Crowley had apparently had enough time to stew, because he was almost red with rage. “Since when” He snarled, “Is the only suitable space a miniature _trunk?”_ He jangled the cuffs for effect, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean stared forward for a while, ignoring the shorter man. “You want to stay out of the trunk, Crowley?” When the demon didn’t respond, Dean continued, “Look behind you.”

Crowley obligingly tilted his head around; “Ah, Moose.”

“Yeah, so unless you can get him back to a hundred percent in maybe five minutes, you go back in the trunk.” Dean deadpanned, still staring straight ahead.

“What, you think because my mum was a witch I can suddenly cure all ills? Let me tell you, Squirrel, it’s not exactly sunshine and daisies. It’s way easier to destroy than to create.”

“But can you do it?”

Crowley looked back at Sam, then out the window. “In the short term? Yes.” Dean made a gesturing motion, as if to say _well do it then_. “A-a-ah, not so fast.” He snarked. “What’s in it for me?”

“Dammit Crowley, do you want to go back in the freaking trunk?” Dean bit back, “You heal him short-term and you’ll never get in that trunk again. Capiche?”

“Listen,” Crowley sighed dramatically. “I’m not one of your graced-up angels that can dole out miracles whenever they damn well please.” Dean scoffed. “I’m bloody serious! Demons simply don’t _work_ that way. And like I said, it’s as natural for a demon to destroy as it is for an angel to heal. You’re making me go against my nature here.”

“Am I?” Dean said, “The way I figure, if Sam gets this close enough to – to completing the trials, then you must be close enough human.”

Crowley scoffed. “I think six hours in a trunk fixed any human left in me, thank you. What about this – I heal your gargantuan brother, and I go on my merry way. It’s a deal?”

Dean recoiled. “This is not a _deal_ , Crowley, and you are not in a position to negotiate!”

“Of course I’m in a position to negotiate,” he reasoned. “I have something you need, you have something I need. I don’t know if you’ve ever made a successful bargain before, but that’s usually how it goes.”

“Usually successful bargains don’t end with one party going back out into the world to periodically damn people to hell!”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, are you still on about the whole deal thing?”

Dean laughed – a harsh, unfeeling laugh. “You want me to sit back while more people get sent through the gates of a place that I couldn’t close? No way.”

Crowley sighed again. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” At Dean’s expression, he expanded, “Think about it: the only people – and that’s it, just them! – that sell their souls to hell end up there. We don’t take sinners, we don’t make tricks; just honest sales.”

Dean looked at him incredulously. Finally Dean spoke, “People are still ending up in hell, and you want to tell me that that’s a _good_ thing?”

“No!” Crowley paused for a moment, tilted his head, and amended. “Well, yes!” He held up his hands defensively. “Alright, think for a moment. You have a kid, down on his luck, his little brother was just literally stabbed in the back. Now in the old days, most likely he would have had to live with the fact that he _couldn’t save him,_ that it was over, there was nothing he could do. Any of this ringing a bell?”

Dean, at some point during Crowley’s speech, had tensed up so much that he may as well have been a statue. Only the small movements of the wheel turning proved him living. “Get to the point, Crowley.”

Crowley looked uncertainly at Dean, down to his chained wrists, and then at the demon-killing blade sticking out of his jacket pocket. “Anyway,” He looked away, “We provide options. We provide _leverage._ It meant that you could save the Moose, and that dear old Bobby could help save the world.”

Dean’s gaze hardened. “Obviously this rant has a point. What do you want?”

Crowley shrugged. “Besides freedom?” Dean nodded jerkily. “I want that bitch Abbadon dead. I want to rule my kingdom in peace, and I definitely don’t want to have to spend my time making sure _you_ aren’t messing it up.”

“And that entails..?”

“A truce.” He paused. “A mutually symbiotic relationship, if you will. You help me kill Abbadon – something you want to do anyway, I presume – and I heal Sam, and grant you and all your little friends immunity.”

“Anybody I want would be protected, not just left alone?”

“I have hundreds of demons that will follow my orders without question.”

“And you’ll heal Sam. All the way, not just short-term?” He looked back at his brother, who was, blissfully, asleep.

“Does that mean our truce is also long term?” Dean gave him a look. “It may take a while to figure out exactly how, but if I have the right tools it will be within my power.” He assured.

“How do I know that you’ll keep your word?”

“How do I know that you’ll keep yours?”

Dean frowned, thinking.

“You know,” Crowley said, a smirk playing on his face, “We could always seal it with a kiss.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This is just a plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. Maybe it'll continue, maybe not.


End file.
